A Soulful Winter: Garima’s Ladakh Trip Review with Thrillophilia
As the plane landed in Leh, my heart pounded with excitement. From the window, I saw vast white landscapes stretching endlessly and the peaks of the mighty Himalayas dusted with fresh snow. It felt surreal, almost as if I were stepping into a world that I had only seen in my dreams.
For years, Ladakh had been calling me, whispering through travel blogs, mesmerising through photographs, and igniting a fire within me with every story I heard. And now, here I was, alongside my three closest friends, ready to surrender ourselves to the magic of this land.
The biting cold hit us the moment we stepped off the aircraft. "Welcome to Leh," said our driver, Dorje, his warm smile defying the chill in the air. We clutched our jackets tighter, shivering but exhilarated. As we made our way to the hotel, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. This was the beginning of something unforgettable.
The hotel staff greeted us with hot butter tea, and its warmth spread through me like an embrace. That night, as I lay in my cosy bed, the excitement kept me awake. Tomorrow, the adventure would truly begin.
Between the Earth and Sky in Sham Valley & Khardung La
The next morning, we woke to a breathtaking sight - the golden rays of the sun touched the snow-capped peaks and cast long shadows on the sleepy town below. After a light breakfast, we set out for Sham Valley.
Our first stop was the Hall of Fame, a tribute to the brave Indian soldiers who defended this land. While walking through the museum, I felt a lump form in my throat as I read stories of bravery and sacrifice. This place held history in its rugged embrace.
At Magnetic Hill, we played along with the famous illusion. "Are we really moving uphill?" one of my friends asked, wide-eyed. We laughed, still in disbelief, as Dorje smiled knowingly. He had seen hundreds of travellers have the same reaction before.
But nothing could have prepared us for Khardung-La. At 18,380 feet, standing atop the highest all-season motorable pass in the world felt like an achievement. The cold air was sharp and our breaths were visible in the frosty wind. "This is insane," I whispered, staring at the endless white stretching beyond the horizon. It was humbling, standing so high yet feeling so small in the grand scale of nature.
We spent some time taking photos and capturing the frozen beauty of this place, but no camera could truly do justice to the feeling of standing amidst those tall peaks.
A Symphony of Colours in the Pangong & the Land of the Moon
On the fourth day, we set off for Pangong Lake. The journey itself was an adventure - twisting roads carved through mountains, monasteries perched on cliffs, and the ever-changing hues of the sky above us.
When we finally reached Pangong, we were left speechless. The lake was a canvas of colours - deep blue at one end, turquoise in the middle, and tinges of red as the sun began to set. The silence here was different. It did not feel empty, but it was full of stories, prayers, and a deep and old stillness.
We laughed as we recreated the iconic "3 Idiots" scene at Rancho’s School.
"Who knew a film could immortalise a place like this?" laughed one of my friends.
The next day, we drove to Lamayuru, a place unlike anything I had ever seen. "Welcome to the moon," Dorje announced as we gazed at the surreal landscape known as Moonland. The terrain here was alien - eroded formations that looked as if they belonged to another planet. We climbed to the ancient Lamayuru Monastery, one of the oldest in Ladakh, where monks chanted in hypnotic harmony. I closed my eyes and let the rhythmic murmurs wash over me, feeling strangely at peace.
As we sat there in silence, the scent of incense filled the air, and for a moment, the world outside did not exist. It was just us, the monks, and the echoes of centuries-old prayers.
Taking a Piece of Ladakh with Me
As our final day in Ladakh ended, I felt a reluctance to leave. This land had silenced the chaos in my mind and replaced it with a calmness I had never known before.
At the airport, Dorje gave us a warm handshake. "You will come back," he said with certainty. I smiled, knowing he was right. Ladakh was an emotion, a longing, and a whisper that would call me back again and again.
As our plane soared above the snow-covered peaks, I looked down one last time, etching this journey into my heart. The mountains may be still, but they speak only if you are willing to listen.
I closed my eyes and replayed the moments
…laughing with my friends by the campfire…the crunch of snow under our boots…the silent reverence in the monasteries…and it all faded away as I closed my eyes…
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